Poetry

Like the ache
of stubbing a toe,
a metaphor we used
just the other night;

First comes
a gasp, a muttered curse,
Then the pain advances
Inexorably.

Like a thief in the day,
Slinking in black clothes against
a backdrop of green
Grass and Sky blue
I loved you then,
and what's changed is
my camouflage.

I thought I was pretty
smart with my poetry, ugly
though I knew
I appeared to you.

I never quite got past
the fact that your lips
are utterly perfect,
and I love to watch you speak,
especially the "Oh"s and "Ooo"s,
and the way you laugh
so genuinely
for me,
and
at me.

You know I'm just repeating
all the run-around I
I ran for you
with all these pretty girls.

Friend, thank you.
I don't know how much you know, but
somewhere in the back there
you've kept this piece of me
safe and sound
throughout
the years.

Dare I dream?

Dare I hope to share my thoughts, to bare them to the harsh light?
Sweet, potent wine-words turn to vinegar on the read,
and there's nothing to do but release.

Art is a sacrificial lamb of the self,
Abraham's Isaac.

I am not Isaac in this tale.

I got a little two-man family
I guess it's hard to see
But wherever it is you need me to go
That's the place I'll be.

I never quite expected I'd
be happy here with you
But I take care of you, and you of me
It's silly but it's true.

So settle down beside me,
we don't have much to do.
I'll do whatever pleases me,
Just do whatever pleases you.

There ain't a moment I could ask for
Prettier than this,
Without a doubt, no pain or guilt
Just a house, and us within.

They whirl me, twist and turn, these memories.
I'm in a twirlwind down on Middle Country again,
The El-Eye-Ee and the twenty-four-seven Diner where you and I and those others stayed up that time
and I drank way too much coffee, again.

And those old friends are like old dolls,
The ones that brought me glee at five,
That I treasured at ten,
Than I forgot at fifteen,
And discarded at twenty
(Packed out, Tossed in, Donated up).

Carol, what happened to those times Mom sewed that ear
Because I loved you so much you broke, over and over? (Now it's all a metaphor
For the rough love I seek
And the patchwork sewing job
I've done on myself)

There's a pit in this stomach,
Where none of it resolves,
Where I'm missing that bile
That takes these scraps and churns them into
new cells and old waste.

Eventually they just gather
on my ass and thighs,
These memories,
Weighing me down.

Strongly-worded’s how I slept;
No drowning sorrows,
     lost regrets
     or sentiments.
I just went away with
Another Wandering Story
then crept back on
knuckles and knees,
prodigal son
     to the morning.

I can’t write them all.
I still don’t know
whose words these are,
but I tell you,
she’s a twisted One.

I’ve slid down waterslides
with bleached old grinning
Jack kissin' me goodbye.
I’ve spotted wooded valleys
dotted with torchlight
where somehow
     I know
My name’s being spoken
though not the one I’m familiar with.
I’ve seen the world explode
     Seen Death
time and line again.
I’ve given birth,
     run away,
And never turned back.

I fall back awake and
Honestly
all I want to know
is the question I’m
     supposed to be asking
To make sense of the crashing waves?

All I want is sunrise
to swoop in with
     Daylight's melody
to serve up some perspective,
and a Moon to keep the rhythm
     with her steadily beating
     indelible natural percussion.

Why does all seem to be
lascivious behavior
and not-so-clever innuendo?
As I burst
beyond my pupa,
I lose interest
in these lurid attractions.

Make love to me,
Ovid, my mind a spreading
flower. Cling
to my dripping, imperfect
intellect.

When I'm no longer graded,
Sonnets and Formulas
are Love and Light
Alighting my nerves;
And while I Have been
addicted to Assignments,
I understand they might
liquefy the mind
as well as any
Ecstasy.